Charley saw something in the nature of fetishism that existed in the mainstream world; of police and judges, priests and archbishops.
The fetish scene merely borrowed these symbols of identity and control and used them for their own pleasure.
In other words, they sexed it up.
He walked through a dark, private, chamber and approached a man and a woman dressed as Gothic vampires. Their body language became inviting, like two spiders on a web, as he nodded and passed on by.
A highly charged scene awaited him as he passed the threshold and entered a large vaulted room which acted as the main dance area.
Directly to his right there stood one of the fetish club's many expensive toys.
Repeated use had given the whipping post a patina you would enjoy on your favourite piece of antique furniture.
Bodily fluids and friction, from hot naked bodies, had produced a conditioning effect which was hard to beat.
Gathered around this pole there stood a mixed crowd of voyeurs.
The tension and excitement were visible, as short cracks of the whip rang out, cutting through the DJ's progressive bass like a knife.
Charley watched for any hint of tension among the crowd.
His job as a bouncer brought him into contact with many strange sights and strange people who then went home to their nice respectable lives of teaching, politics and dispensing the law.
"Charley!" A rubber-clad figure came out of the shadows.
"Chee-Chee, is that you?"
She put hands on her hips in her 'Little Miss Prissy' pose.
"You like what you see?" She twirled around and allowed the meagre light to pick out her rubber catsuit.
He found it hard not to admire the way the fiery sequins highlighted her exposed torso, arms and shoulders.
"You look great, Chee-Chee," he said, resisting the caveman urge to scoop her up and whisk her off somewhere dark and quiet.
"Want some Hippie Crack?" she shouted, putting a half deflated balloon to her mouth. The balloon shrank as she inhaled.
The club sold them over the bar. Tonight's colour was 'Virgin White' but they also came in silver, black and burgundy. Their colours rotated weekly, with red reserved for Christmas.
"I'm good."
"Still doing Charlie, Charley?"
He gave her a disapproving look and turned his gaze towards the dance floor.
There was an energy in the crowd tonight.
The stone vaulted ceiling hovered sixty feet above their heads and danced with light from the glitter balls and strobe lighting.
It almost made it look like there were bats fluttering around up there. But then it was possible given the age of the building.
She moved in close to shout in his ear.
"One day you might tire of the Mundanes and join our happy crew? I think my family understands my lifestyle more than they do yours."
He put his mouth close to her ear. "You know this isn't the place—"
"We miss you, Charley. If it still bothers you that much, give it all away. We'd still want to see you, just not in your world."
She referred to his family's vast wealth and his occupation as a doorman.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Dream
HorrorWhat would happen if all wrongs were put right, all dreams given form? Plagued by dreams and visions of the future, Charley has a reluctant role in the coming Apocalypse. His only nemesis is Davo, a troubled and complex personality who uses his uni...
